How Nymphadora Learned To Stop Worrying And Serve The Dark Lord
by Earl Annex
Summary: It all started when Nymphadora Tonks recieved a strange letter. Now she's minioning for the Dark Lord, and to her horror, discovers that she actually likes it... Probably crack. Pseudo-SI.


When a post owl flew through Nymphadora Tonks' open window, she barely raised an eyebrow. The contents of the letter it carried, however, were far more surprising.

"The fuck?"

Specifically, the letter, if it could be called that, was an irregular sheaf of paper (paper, not parchment) and was filled with odd doodles and squiggles. It was signed, and she was not sure if it was supposed to be a signature or not, with a footprint. Crow, she guessed. Neither the letter or the owl provided any clues as to whatever the fuck was going on.

"So ya got me letter, then."

She whirled around, bringing her wand to bear - then stopped.

A raven sat on the windowsill, its blood-red eyes staring perhaps into her very soul. "'Ello, guvna," it provided rather helpfully. She stared at it.

Ignoring the wand pointed at its face, the bird hopped in, scratched a few markings into the table, and declared authoritatively:

"Yer Nim-call-me-that-again-and-i'll-hex-ya-fedora Tonks, yea?"

She nodded cautiously, still not lowering her wand. The raven noticed. "Oh put that stick away, toots. I ain't gonna harm ya. Yet."

"That's not exactly inspiring me with confidence, you know," she shot back. The bird made an amused noise.

"Eh, it probably shouldn't. And to answer yer unasked question, I ain't an Animagus or anythin' like that. But I do need yer help."

Weighing the odd bird's request, she did perhaps the stupidest thing she could have done in that situation - she holstered her wand and sat down. Moody was sure to berate her for it, she was certain. "What sort of help do you need?"

The bird opened its beak. "I, er, _used to be_ is the keyphrase here... Well. I _used_ to be the Dark Lord Voldemort. And I need a body now."

Yep, Tonks was _definitely_ regretting her decision to hear the bird out. She looked left and looked right. "Right now?"

It- He? Probably he. The blasted bird squawked. "What - _heck_ no! It's just that I'm pretty sure I was s'posed to be possessin' a Hogwarts teacher now, but the poor guy tripped and fell off a cliff when he saw me." He rubbed his beak with his wing. "And none a' the locals were willin' to help. Wonder why."

"Yeah," Tonks snarked, "I imagine nobody wants to be associated with a supposedly dead dark lord who just so happens to be in a bird."

_Probably_-The-Bird-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made a strange clucking noise, which Tonks allocated to an amused snort after a moment's thought.

"Bah! I wasn't in the bird _then_. Although that explains their reluctance even more... oh well. Anyway. Yeah. Quirinus Quirrell is decomposing somewhere in Albania, and Hogwarts is lacking a convenient PotterBait."

Tonks, rather sardonically, raised her eyebrows. "So you came to _me._"

_Definitely_-The-Bird-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shrugged. "Sure. Yer the only metamorph I know of, and if I manage to get access to a decent Dark Magic library - like a certain Black one- then I'm sure we can bypass the idiotic soul drain/dark magic decay limitation. On a related note, I need a new bird soon."

_Definitely_ regretting her decision now.

* * *

Looking up at the impressive yet intimidating townhouse at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Tonks wondered why the fuck didn't she just ditch the bloody bird altogether.

"Yer insatiable curiousity?"

She started. "Bloody hell, you're a Legilimens, too?"

By the way the raven was looking at her, she could _swear_ it had raised an eyebrow. Which she was reasonably sure ravens didn't _have_.

"I ain't gonna waste my sarcasm on ya."

_Definitely_ feeling a bit sheepish there, Tonks. Quickly changing the topic, she instead asked: "So, uh. What were we doing here? Again?"

The Voldebird gave her another Look. "We're here to access the Black Family library. Your aunt and your, whatwazzit, first-cousin-once-removed? Reg Black? Something like that, they were in my service once. And yer a Black, despite wearing a different name. The house'll let us in."

Tonks crossed her arms. "And you know that for _sure._"

"Reasonably."

"Reasonably isn't enough."

"Aw shut it and knock."

She knocked.

A few minutes passed. She felt herself raising a sardonic eyebrow. "Now what?"

"Now ya knock again. Geez woman, it's like you've never knocked at a door before."

Feeling slightly foolish and rather annoyed, she knocked again. This time, there were a few clicks, clacks, more unlocking sounds, and the door creaked open. At the door stood an impressively old elf.

"Kreacher wonders who is knocking on her Mistress' door, yes Kreacher is, does nobody know the Ancient and Noble house of Black is dead and decaying with her Mistress hanging on the wall, yes..."

"Oi, elf," the bird on her shoulder interrupted the mumbling creature, "I, the Dark Lord, and a fairly alive member of the House of Black demand an entrance and didn't I leave you to die once already?"

The elf's eyes snapped up, the gaze now sharp. "Kreacher knows all alive members of the house of Black are blood traitors and filth, yes, Kreacher knows that very well... Kreacher wonders why someone claiming to be the Dark Lord would associate with the filth, yes he does, yes he-"

"Cut the crap," demanded the raven, eyes fixed on the clearly demented elf. "How did you get out of the cave?"

Kreacher's glare was now piercing. "Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to come home."

Voldebird swore. "Bloody buggering- House elf loyalty! Yes, no, no matter now. Look, elf, I'm willing to forgive "Master Regulus" for his treachery, if you tell me _if_ you ever went back."

Kreacher's back straightened, and fierce loyalty was blazing in his eyes. Tonks, nearly forgotten, watched the verbal tennis match with wide eyes.

"Kreacher went back, yes. And Kreacher destroyed the locket that Master Regulus retrieved!"

The-Bird-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paused. "Did you now. Did you _really?_" The elf shuffled. The bird smiled. Somehow. "You _didn't_, did you? You're simply _bluffing_ at me."

Kreacher nodded, shamefully. "Nothing Kreacher did worked."

"That's okay. No, really! It suits my plans quite well now that it's actually here and within reach! I have too much of those things anyway. Bring it to me, elf, and I, Crowlemort, shall destroy it!"

Kreacher paused. Tonks also paused. "...Crowlemort?"

The bird puffed up. "Yea. Voldemort, but crow! Crow-le-mort?"

Tonks was staring blankly. So was the elf. The bird made a huffing sound. "Caw! Fine. I get it. I lost my sense of humor and it's locked in that locket ya have. Now let us in so I can break it open and get that back, capiche?"

* * *

The writhing black cloud calmed, having gained size in what was most likely an epic battle between Voldemort and, presumably, another Voldemort. Tonks looked askance at Kreacher.

"So... were you expecting your day to start like that, or?"

The elf scowled. "Kreacher wonders why filthy halfblood mistress even bothers to speak to Kreacher."

She sighed. "Yeah, so do I- Wait. _Mistress?_"

Kreacher stiffened. "Kreacher has no idea what filthy halfblood is talking about."

Tonks nodded slowly. "_Right_. So you didn't expect to be working for Voldemort either?" She paused. "Wait, no. You're a Black elf. Never mind."

"Kreacher considers that slightly offensive."

"Given what Mom's family is like, can you honestly blame me for the assumption?"

"Kreacher supposes he does not."

"I DECLARE VICTORY!"

They both looked back at the slightly more human-shaped wraith. It glared. "Kreacher, get me a new bird."

The old elf sneered. "Kreacher does not listen to the Dark Lord."

"Tonks, tell him to get me a new bird."

Tonks sighed. Seriously, when did that become her life? "Kreacher, get the Dark Bird a new body. To possess, I assume."

Sneering, the elf disappeared, only to reappear with a squawking owl. Said owl seemed to vehemently disagree with being captured by the old elf.

Lord Birdemort, clearly, didn't care. The dark mass of shadows _surged_ forwards, enveloping the owl, its squawks dying down. Then the darkness cleared entirely, and the newly possessed Owldemort shook itself free from Kreacher's grip.

"Prek."

Tonks tilted her head. "I'm sorry?"

The owl's eyes widened. "Prek? _Bark!_ Hoooo~oot! Bark!"

The metamorph snorted. "You know, I don't think owls can speak like crows do."

"The Dark Lord demanded for a bird," Kreacher commented smugly. "The Dark Lord did not specify _which_ bird."

The owl's eyes, now bright red, narrowed in fury. Then the dark miasma left the owl once again, leaving the bird to screech and attempt to flee. Voldemort himself, however, paid no attention to the avian. He had a different target.

Kreacher could only yelp, before he was silenced. There was a brief moment of confusion. And then the elf rose, eyes glowing malevolently. "New plan," the Dark Lord growled. "I take the _impertinent creature_ instead."

* * *

**A/N: Okay. This is happening, now. Warning: Don't take it too seriously.**

**This Voldemort is a combination of canon Voldemort and a splinter of myself. As such, he's essentially a composite character. He has my knowledge of the future, and the sense of chaos, and his own charisma and ambition. He also seems to be capable of remorse, as evidenced by his reabsorbing of the horcrux. So... don't be too put off by his OOCness, kay? As I said, don't take it too seriously.**


End file.
